


Missing/Monster

by Werekitty119



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Murder, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:25:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werekitty119/pseuds/Werekitty119
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the ten years the 'bots were missing in-canon, The Spine is kidnapped and held for study by a government organisation. Eventually he escapes. Told from his perspective, and an exercise in kicking readers in the feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing/Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ClockworkDinosaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkDinosaur/gifts).



> This is not a happy story. It has a lot of people dead, though not described in detail. It has a lot of bad things happening to The Spine, which are described in moderate detail, which result in The Spine being broken apart and not quite being put back together again. If you aren't sure you will be comfortable reading this, or that you will be okay after, please take the time now to open a few tabs of fluff and/or hurt/comfort to read after this.
> 
> Good luck.

It had been days. Days of barely enough water to keep him from burning out as things he couldn't see poked and prodded at his casing, trying to find a way in. Occasionally, someone would ask him a question or two in languages he didn't immediately recognise. Always a different one as soon as he managed to make sense of anything, sometimes a language he knew with a query about how to break him open.

 

The first time he'd told them to go shove it, they'd broken off one of his spines. He woke up a few hours later, spitting hot oil and fighting with strength he hadn't known he had left, screaming and writhing as he saw green and red and copper, felt everything too hot and deathly cold and pressing down and throwing him into the air, heard explosions and the rending of metal and the horrific death throes of _WRONGthingsNO_ that had been human, once, until he felt his core could burst and _goodBADdon't let themWRONG-BADtake youRUN_ -

 

The second time he told them to go shove it, they had wired him up to some sort of mains power, and he could feel phantom pains from where the power surges had burnt through his wiring in seconds while his body still twitched and jerked unfeelingly.

 

It had been weeks since anyone had entered whatever they were holding him in- or had it been hours? His internal clock was telling him the former, but he couldn't remember anymore whether it was clockwork and steam that could withstand the electricity or just more newfangled wires and circuits that burnt out so fast, so delicate, melting like water and burning like wood, like rock candy fires sending clouds of  _NO-WRONG-BAD_ danger and pain into the sky. There was always just enough water, though. It tasted of dead things and oil, but it was clean enough for him to run on.

 

Was this how  _HELP-SAVE-PLEASE_ Hatchworth felt, locked up away from them all for so many years? Was this a vault for the same thing? He hadn't done anything  _BAD_ bad, had he? Sounds were pouring from him, half-formed  _PLEASE_ justifications for whatever he'd  _NEVER_ done, he could fix it make it right _NO_ he didn't mean to  _HELP_ sir, hands were  _TEAR_ pulling him away from the metal frame,  _DRAG_ supporting him as he tried to walk to the  _TRAP_ door, voices trying to soothe him  _it's okay, you're safe now, just tell us how to fix you-_ no. 

 

No no _NO_ no noNOnONONO they couldn't trick him he'd show them all he was  _RUN_ running as fast as he could, he couldn't feel anything but that didn't matter as he saw  _HUMANS-SAVE_ bodies fall _WRONG-YOU-NEED-TO-HELP-THEM_ no he didn't they were just trying to hurt him green and red and screaming, so much  _DEATH_ red and screaming and green clothes now, dark green, and his gun arm wasn't responding to  _KILL_ anything anymore but he was so close he could see the  _BLUE-DRIPPING-DEAD_ sky through a window at the end of the corridor, just had to run  _GET-AWAY_ a little bit faster  _NONONO_ when something clattered through it and an explosion knocked him off his feet, the last thing he saw was the sun setting over geography he'd never seen before as he felt something clamp shut over his core and  _twist._

 

They _THINGS-WRONG_ didn't try asking him again _EVER-RUN-GET-AWAY._ It was just an existence of  _WRONG-BAD_ pain with periods of  _PLAN-RUN-FIGHT_ isolation when th _THINGS-GREEN-BAD_ weren't there and the _THINGS-BAD-WRONG_ were hurting him so bad but  _HIDE-TRICK_ sometimes they would reconnect something he needed and then one day he could move just enough of himself.

 

The ???monsters??? didn't notice he was hoarding WATER until it was too late. He KICKed and FOUGHT and pulled himself out of the ???bunker??? and across the ???desert??? and RAN and RAN and RAN towards ???HOME??? and shot and fought and ???defeated??? the ???monsters??? and he could tell he was almost HOME he could feel it he could feel  _SAVE_ Hatchworth in his vault buried dark and deep and  _SAVE_ Rabbit and even  _SAVE_ The Jon was there but he had to ???stop??? the ???monsters??? from finding  _SAVE_ them so he circled fought and clawed and ???stopped??? them and there were so many ???monsters??? and he could feel  _BAD-WRONG-MONSTER_ fear from his  _SAVE_ siblings who were  _HIDE-SO-THE-MONSTER-WON'T-FIND-YOU_ hiding from the ???monsters??? he was ???fighting??? that had to be it _but there weren't any ???monsters??? left_ so he set a destination for  _HOME._

 

It took years of dedicated repairs to get him functioning again. That's what he'd say to anyone that asked. He wouldn't mention how he was, mechanically speaking, functioning fine within a couple of weeks. Nor how Rabbit and The Jon had to stay either side of him whenever he could see people just in case a face looked familiar for the wrong reasons and his mind classed it as 'monster' instead of 'person'. Not how he spent months trying to find the vault Hatchworth was in, tearing through concrete and stone until he fell apart all over again because he couldn't bear to feel on the edge of his core the crushing lonliness again.

 

He would never even think of mentioning how it still affected him now, how he could never stand next to the window, could never walk through a public place without looking fearfully for anything dark green and splotchy. How at every show, he was still always ready to flee, to grab Hatchworth and Rabbit and just run until the monsters couldn't find them anymore.

 

He would never say any of that, he explained to the poor police officer who had tailed the strange man down a couple of back streets. He was, most certainly, absolutely fine; he affirmed as the police officer scrabbled uselessly against the brickwork, desperately trying to breathe. After all, he concluded as a scorch mark that had once been a police officer smoked slightly, his vow of pacifism protected all that could think, and feel.

 

It didn't include m͛ͨ̌̔̊ͮͣ̈́̈́͗͗̓̏͑̀̃ͤ̐͏҉̡̲̭͈̱͇̳̰͚̤̱̫̗̠̗͇o̶̷̙͉̝̰̮̦ͥͣ̂ͯ̒̉̅̂̑͒̓̓ͮͬͦ͊ͪͅņ̧̝̳̰̲̖̤͈̩̦̖͙͈͓͚̱͈̭ͧ͗ͭ̈́͌̇̈͋͐͊̎͛̊̀ͦ͗̐̚͞s̨̪͉̗̤̘̜̙̰̗͙̝̻̺̞ͫ̿̎͆͋̂ͣͣ̌̋̆̽ͧ͊ͩ͑ͨ̈́̇͘͢͟͝ͅt̶̬͍͖̣̗̟̘̘̟̘̱͂ͬ̋ͪ͂ͪ͞͠ẽ̵͎̙̫̞͈̦̭̪̳͙̥̻͇͔̙̱̂ͮͮͨ̄ͫ͆ͤ̾̄̂̉̀̂̀͟r̶̡̈̂͐̓̐̇̎̓ͣͥ̿̂ͩͪ҉͕̲̻̞̰̮̞͍̱͕̰̠͙s̷͂̏̽͑͛̀ͬ͂͑ͣ͒ͩ͊ͨͩ҉̧̨̘͚̮̙̰̘͓͙̬̹͞ .

 


End file.
